Princess Amisha eventually fell asleep in the dead of night within the room, and the bier was all she had to sleep on. She looked as though she were dead in her slumber, her clear, smooth white skin illuminated by the dim candlelit as sweet-smelling smoke burned around her. Her hands were clasped on top of the middle of her torso as she slept soundly. Little did she know that several of the raja's priests, including Raja Kumar Chatur himself, snuck into the room and began muttering silent, whispered prayers near her sleeping body on the bier.
"Leave," the raja ordered his priests as soon as their moment of silent prayer was over.
As they left the dim, candlelit room, Raja Kumar Chatur walked slowly to the bier she was sleeping on, crouching down to admire her beauty. Even as she slept, she had the beauty of a thousand jewels; her eyes were closed to let her full, natural eyelashes be seen, her lips had a lovely natural pink shade to them, and her skin, so white and delicate-looking, prompted him to take his dagger from the sheath on his belt. Once the silver, shining blade came out, he lightly treaded it from her temple down to her jawline, taking it away to speak.
"A beauty you are, rajkumari," he whispered silently. "You are so beautiful. It is a shame that your moon white skin will be stained with your own blood."
Then, he took one of her hands off the middle of her torso, gently pulling it closer to him so he could look at the insides of her wrists. That was an even whiter part of her body, her blue veins showing through as if her skin were translucent. He smirked devilishly down at the white flesh, treading his dagger on her skin light enough so that he didn't cut her.
"Your blood is the primal force of India," the raja said, looking up once more at her sleeping face. "With every drop we drink, we will all be immortal. Drinking the essence of a goddess is the best spiritual benediction man can ever experience." Still, the princess did not stir from her sleep, so the raja kept going on about her as a sacrifice. He placed his hand over her bosom, feeling her heart beat calmly underneath layers of flesh and rib. He sighed, getting a high off the sensation of her sacred heartbeat.
"This, however," he said in the same sadistic tone of voice, "is what my grandfather wanted all those years ago. This here is the true jewel of Delhi we have been searching for."
Suddenly, Princess Amisha's eyes opened, and in a flash, she let out a scream, forcing his hand off her chest. She breathed heavily, noticing his dagger was out, and tears began to stream down her face with intense fear.
"Do not ever put your hands on me again!" she shouted defensively, suddenly paying no mind to the sharp knife in his hand. The raja stood up, and once the princess sat up in her place, he took a seat next to her legs, which rested on the bier as the princess looked at him analytically with her intense blue eyes.
"I cannot do that, divine one," he said, looking down at his blade. "I am the only one in my priestly position to…release Black Tara out of you." The princess shook her head, looking up at him.
"No," she whined. "Why is it me?"
"You have been chosen for a special reason," Raja Kumar Chatur stated plainly. "You are Black Tara's incarnation!"
"How do you even know? It could be some common woman you see on the streets!" Princess Amisha protested rationally. He shook his head, their eyes meeting.
"No, rajkumari. No one is like you," he said with extreme doubt. "My grandfather predicted that the most beautiful woman in all of India would be sacrificed to Black Tara and be worshipped as a deity in my temple."
"If my father knew what and who you really were," Princess Amisha sighed. "He would put you to death for sure." He sighed, looking down with his bushy eyebrows raised before looking over to reach for her hand. Upon realizing that her delicate white hand was in the clutch of his large, dark mitt, she pulled away out of suspicion of his true intentions.
"I must show you something," the raja said, looking at her persuasively.
"No!" the princess exclaimed, moving away from him as he stood up to extend his hand to her.
"You don't trust me, do you?" he wondered with an eyebrow raised.
"Quite frankly, I do not, Raja Kumar," the princess said, staring up at him with her eyes full of both curiosity and fear.
"You are not being killed at any given time, rajkumari. You will die in a ceremony within three days. The moon will be new in three days, and that is the perfect time," he said. Suddenly, her nerves calmed down, and, ignoring her inhibitions and inner sense of right and wrong, she slowly put her hand into that of the raja's and stood up slowly, looking into his fiery dark eyes.
"Yes, rajkumari. Good girl," he said with a sly smile, taking her out of the room and down a hallway decorated with a floor made of sandstone tiles and sunshine yellow stucco on the walls. Her hair jewels and ankle bells made small sounds as she walked with her hand held by the raja, who led her to a small room. He struck a match and lit a candle that somehow brightened the whole room. The princess gasped, and in front of her was a tall object covered with black silk; in a single move, Raja Kumar Chatur took it off with such force that the delicate fabric blew wind everywhere. The princess gasped in shock at the sight of her reflection in a mirror, but it was no ordinary mirror—it depicted her as a multiple-limbed Hindu goddess.
"Ahh!" she cried. "I am…a…goddess."
Her nerves calmed once she absorbed the image of herself as a divine being. Her skin was pearl white and had a particular shine to it, her hair was still the same raven black color, if not more brilliant, and her eyes, blue as they were, sparkled like sapphires in her fantastical reflection in the mystical mirror. She had four arms instead of two, but had two legs, and in her hands were a lotus, a gold coin, a key, and a small, handheld mirror. She wore beautiful, much more glamorous clothing than she did as a human, and her face was just as calm and delicate as it was in her mortal form. She moved closer to her reflection and placed her hand against her reflection, smiling as one of the goddess' hands met with her real one. The raja stared at the sight, feeling like she was satisfied, but really, she wasn't—she knew that her beliefs did not require someone to die for the sake of one minority Hindu temple.
"Does it peak your interest to see what you will look like after death, Your Highness?" he asked. She looked back, taking her hand off the reflective surface.
"Black Tara is…well, black. Why am I white in my goddess form, raja?" she asked calmly.
"Even the purest souls still have a black part in them," he explained in brief. "It is a matter of balance, of which I am sure you are familiar."
"Yes, I am familiar. It just…well… Black Tara has black skin," Princess Amisha contradicted.
"And even though you are a white goddess, Black Tara's blood flows through your veins, Your Highness," Raja Kumar said, looking at his own god-like reflection in the mirror.
The sight of Raja Kumar Chatur as a god scared the princess to the point where she had nervous chills running down her spine, noticing that his eyes were red as fire, his skin bluer than her eyes, and he looked as angry as Kali was. He had crimson blood drops dripping from his mouth, in which fangs were instead of teeth, and he was dressed in a pure black ensemble. He had six arms, four of which held skulls or bloody swords. Noticing that their divine forms reflected their unique natures, Princess Amisha knew he was evil to the core—then she thought of Alfred. What would he look like as a Hindu god? Would he have blond or black hair? Would he be depicted positively?
"You are the most beautiful woman in India," the raja said, peering over her neck to inhale her sweet jasmine and lavender scent. "After you are sacrificed, you will become one of the gods. You will be worshipped by future generations of our temple."
Meanwhile, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston were walking through the city streets of Delhi, hoping to find clues connected to Princess Amisha's mysterious kidnapping. No one had any idea what really happened except for the two older Englishmen, who had witnessed only part of the incident and even managed to retrieve a few diamonds left behind.
"Do you think the raja is in town right now?" Matthew asked. "I'm a bit nervous."
"Dude, don't be nervous. I'd like to just go and save her, wherever she is," Alfred said.
"He scares me," his friend said with apprehension.
"He's so ugly!" Francis ridiculed, fluffing his hair casually. "All the beauty in the world and his ugliness…eh! Je detest!"
"Do you still have the diamonds you found, Mr. Winston?" Arthur asked, looking as he reached into his pocket and pulled them out.
"Yes," he answered.
Suddenly, there was the sound of screaming women running with their children in their arms. It caught their attention quickly, and it wasn't long until they saw more than a few men in military clothing carrying swords and guns, attacking men and women relentlessly. Alfred's eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock, as did the rest of the men he was with, at the sight of the brutal massacre taking place.
"Oh my God! What the hell is going on?" Alfred exclaimed. "Who are they?"
"They are not the Maharaja's soldiers," Mr. Smith hypothesized nervously. "In fact, I have no clue who they are or what they want."
As dozens of men and women were being killed by the strange military force, the head soldier, looked at his right-hand man and pointed toward where Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith were standing.
"There they are! Get them!" he ordered in his native language. Before a few soldiers could run to get them, three of the five young men managed to run away, but due to the fact that Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston were older and less agile, and the fact that Ivan and Matthew were being tackled and locked in chains by two of the soldiers faster than they can realize, they were taken from the city streets and hustled into a small, drivable cart which drove off out of the city.
"Ivan!" Arthur shouted.
"Matthew! No!" Alfred shouted, extending his hand out to the distant cart. He could still hear the men screaming out for someone to help them, or for their captors to release them. Then, Alfred started to run, but at an instant he was held back by Arthur.
"We have to save them!" the American suggested, frustrated and angry that they were taken to God knows where.
"Are you crazy, wanker?" Arthur exclaimed, his green eyes full of both worry and detestation. "We could be killed!"
"I don't want to go there! I'm too gorgeous—"
"SHUT UP, FRANCIS!" Arthur said, cutting the Frenchman off.
"I'm so tired of your idiocy, Arthur! You shut up!" Francis said meanly, shoving Arthur away from he and Alfred.
That was the final straw; Arthur couldn't take it anymore—at an instant, he grabbed the front of Francis' shirt and drove his back against a wooden pillar near a vending stall and he started to punch him senselessly. The Frenchman grabbed the front of Arthur's shirt in the same fashion, and soon began attacking him. Then, they were shaking each other forward and backward as if they were going to kill each other. Alfred, witnessing their quarrel and several people watching or running away in fear, went between them and pulled them apart with all of his strength. Both of the quarrelling men stared at him, in awe of his excessive strength and how he looked so angry with them both.
"Both of you stop it right now! You can't keep fighting like this! You could get in trouble for this!" he hissed. "It ends now!"
"It only ends if he stops!" Arthur detested, raising a fist.
"You stop first!" Francis snapped, flinching upon seeing Arthur's enclosed fist coming toward him. Alfred grabbed his fist and pushed it away from the Frenchman, and yet again, Arthur's face was full of shock.
"Damn it! You are so strong! You're not even muscular!" the Brit remarked.
"You'd be surprised," Alfred said, calming himself down.
The Brit and the Frenchman looked at each other, and once Alfred sensed that they were calmed down, he let them go. They all looked at each other, but then the American spoke.
"I couldn't care any less about what the Maharaja says about sending his military to find Princess Amisha," he said with an unusually stern voice. "We are saving the woman I love, as well as Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith. Let's discreetly follow the tracks of that car and see where it leads us."
Noticing the distinct tire marks left on the narrow road, the other two men agreed, nodding to each other as they followed the path without being noticed. I'm coming, my princess, Alfred thought, you will be safe and unharmed.